I'll Still Be Here In The Morning
by chalantness
Summary: She went home with him. She slept with him! She should at least know his name. (Sometime after Bette's reappearance in Young Justice #20)


**Title:** _I'll Still Be Here In The Morning__  
_**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 2,100+  
**Characters:** Dick/Bette  
**Summary:** She went home with him. She _slept_ with him! She should at least know his name. (Sometime after Bette's reappearance in Young Justice #20)

**Note:** It should be a crime how shippable I find everyone.

**I'll Still Be Here In The Morning**

She really needs to learn his name.

It's literally driving her crazy that she doesn't know it. It distracts her, which is a big deal since she prides herself on her focus and drive and ambition and all that.

She's just never done this before. Honestly, she'd never… She's not one of _those_ kinds of girls that can do the whole one-night stand and not feel even a little bit guilty or something once it's over. That's just how she is. She feels too much about almost everything and she's never believed it to be a bad thing.

But, _god_, she went home with him. She _slept_ with him! She should at least know his name.

It's not like she's a prude (obviously) or one of those people that believes in waiting for marriage (again, _obviously_). But she doesn't just go sleeping around with strangers she met at a club. And she didn't even meet him at a club! She went to the diner across the street from the club, because she needed a break and her friends were still dancing, and he was just sitting at the counter and she sat beside him and they wound up talking. She only had one cocktail all night and wasn't even buzzed, and she still wound up going home with him.

And the stupid part is that she remembers him telling her his name. But then he kissed her and all she could focus on was that his hand was on her knee and his lips were pressed against hers and he was mumbling something about taking her home.

She forgot his name because of a _kiss_.

She sounds like such a teenager. It'd be more embarrassing if he wasn't so _sexy_. (Which also makes her sound like a teen, but whatever, he _is_.)

... ...

All she really wants right now is her lunch, except it's like, five in the afternoon and too late to be called lunch, but whatever. Leave it to her luck (or _lack of it_) for the gym she's interning at to have training on a Saturday that her boss absolutely insisted she should try and not get out until ten minutes ago.

She hasn't eaten since breakfast. She's _starving_.

And all she was going to do is drive to this bakery a few minutes from campus. She tries not to come here on weekends since she and her co-workers have their stuff for their lunch breaks almost all the time, but right now she just needs food that's delicious and familiar and not going to piss her off by looking good and then end up tasting awful.

But then she's standing on the sidewalk and digging through her purse for her wallet so she can put coins in the meter, and a hand grasps her arm just above her elbow.

"What the…"

The sentence dies on her tongue, though, as she sees who it is.

"Bette," he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, and gives her the same smile he did when she sat beside him at the diner. It makes her feel like he knows something that she doesn't, and it's stupid that she finds that incredibly sexy. "I knew I recognized your car."

_God, _she hopes she isn't smiling as widely as she thinks she is. "Glad to know it made an impression on you," she says.

He chuckles. "Well, not everyone I know has a bumper sticker of a bird with wings of flames."

She scoffs and shoves his stomach and he laughs and, okay, maybe she did it as an excuse to feel his abs through his shirt. Honestly, it's a _crime_ how sexy he makes khaki pants and a blue button-down look. And she really needs to find a word other than _sexy_ to describe him. It may be true, but she's twenty years old and it makes her feel strangely juvenile.

"It's my—"

"It has to do with your nickname from when you were on the Gotham girls' tennis team," he finishes, smiling just a little wider. "I remember."

Okay, that's just not _fair_.

She wants to be upset with him, because he took her home and wouldn't give up his name even after she found out they actually went to school together and she hasn't seen him since. But the truth is that she probably would've called him if he'd given her his number. Because, okay, aside from the sex, he's actually very funny and easy to hang out with, and he does things like remember that her bumper sticker was a graduation gift from her high school tennis team, even though she only vaguely remembers mentioning it to him.

"Right," she says.

"And, just so you know," he adds, gripping her a little tighter (to be honest, she forgot he was still holding onto her arm), "You made a much bigger impression than your bumper sticker."

"I feel like I should be offended," she jokes.

"You have no reason to be."

She bites her lower lip. This thing he does where he compliments her without really saying it is _unfair_. She can't be the only woman he's talked to like this, which should make her feel a lot more pissed off than she actually is (which is not at all).

"Are you cold?" he asks, frowning a bit in concern.

She looks down at herself. It's the first week of December and she's out in yoga pants and a jacket thrown over her workout top. "Oh, no," she says with a laugh, "I just came back from a workout and the heater was on in my car and the cold air actually feels really refreshing right now. And I was just going to grab lunch and eat in the car, anyway."

She doesn't know why she just told him that.

He smiles again. "Lunch?"

"I haven't eaten since breakfast," she explains. "The session didn't end until like, fifteen minutes ago."

"Ah," he says, smiling at her like he knows the feeling. "Then can I treat you to lunch?"

"Sure," she answers, and hopes it's not too obvious that part of her has been kind of hoping he would ever since he said her name.

... ...

It's kind of scary how comfortable she feels in his apartment.

She's been here all of two times, but it's actually not all that bigger or different than her apartment (though he doesn't have a roommate like she does) and feels cozy. And it's not like she feels at home or anything, or like she's staying over at a friend's. But it doesn't feel as awkward or scary as she thinks it's supposed to.

It's _weird_.

But she's sitting on his couch in her leggings and fuzzy white socks and a red tee (she keeps an overnight bag in her car for emergency purposes) and finds herself smiling as he prepares their dinner – cheese omelets that he claims are his specialty – in his kitchen. It's strange that she's actually hungry even though she ate just a little over an hour ago.

Maybe it's because they just had sex in his shower.

(Yeah, it's probably that.)

She feels like she should be blushing just thinking about it, because it's so _not_ her, but _god_, he's so…

He's ruined sex for her with any other guy. Well, okay, maybe she's exaggerating (she doubts that she is, though), but it's not just that he knows what he's doing. And it's not like she's been with someone that treated her indecently or anything, either.

He just makes her feel like some sort of _goddess_ or something, the way he treats her.

She is by no means in love with him, or really interested in dating him (maybe they could a little further down the line if she ever gets to know him better), but there's just something about the way he touches her and kisses her and says her name that makes it feel so _intimate_, like he's wanted her all his life or something. She can't really describe it.

Again, it doesn't escape her that he's probably made other women feel the same way, but… She doesn't know. She still feels she's _the one_ with him.

_God_, he's probably ruined her future relationships, too.

"So," she speaks up, lowering the volume of his TV. He looks up at her from the stove. "Am I ever going to learn your name?"

"I told you already."

She rolls her eyes. "Are you ever going to _remind _me?"

He just laughs.

She gets up and walks over, standing on the other side of the breakfast bar, and he switches off the burner and slides the second omelet onto its own plate. Then sets the pan inside the sink and meets her eyes, smiling again.

"It's not important," he tells her.

"How could it not be important?" she asks.

He laughs again. "Just trust me. I'm saving you from a lot of disappointment, and potential embarrassment, by not telling you who I am."

She shakes her head, not really understanding why he thinks that way. Okay, maybe she had a pretty strong personality in high school and didn't necessarily hold back all of her opinions, but she didn't _bully_ anyone. And she didn't really think badly of anyone, either. Everyone in their school was insanely talented in at least one thing, and more often than not more than one thing, and she admired that about her classmates. She made sure that the school acknowledged their achievements and paid attention to everyone.

But obviously she wasn't paying enough attention to _him_ if she doesn't recognize him now.

"Well," she sighs, "I need to call you _something_. I mean, if we plan on…" She feels her cheeks warm a little. "Unless you don't want to…"

He leans in and gives her a kiss that's a little deeper than just a peck on her lips, and she braces her hands against the edge of the counter to steady herself. "I want to see you again," he murmurs, "if it's alright with you."

She smiles and honestly doesn't care how eager she might sound when she says, "It's alright with me."

He says, "Good," and kisses her again, a little harder and a little dirtier than the first time. Then he pulls away a little, walks around the counter and slides his hand over the small over her back and kisses her again. "Can I take you to the room now?" he whispers into her ear, and she lets out this little whimper and nods.

... ...

She wakes up in his bed with the sunlight warm against her skin and her legs tangled in his sheets.

She stretches her entire body and then sits herself up. He's not in the room, but she catches a glimpse of him standing shirtless in his kitchen as he's messing with the microwave and some dishes. She yawns a little and slides out of bed, slips on her panties and then her bra and then walks out.

"Sleep well?" he asks as she sits herself on a barstool at the breakfast bar. She grins. "Sorry to leave bed before you did, but I thought I'd salvage our dinner for breakfast."

"I've always wanted to try a microwaved cheese omelet."

He laughs and shakes his head, setting a plate with her omelet and some hashed browns and bacon strips in front of her. Then he sets a glass of iced water beside her plate and hands her a fork and a bottle of ketchup.

"My compliments to the chef," she says, uncapping the ketchup and squirting some onto her hashed browns.

"You haven't even tasted it yet."

"I wasn't complimenting him on the food," she tells him, and he laughs again. "Thank goodness it's Sunday! It's been forever since I've had a lazy day."

"You could stay in with me if you want." She meets his eyes and he shrugs one shoulder. "Though, you're probably never going to get any more clothes on than _that_," he adds, nodding to her in her bra and panties. She bites her lower lip, looks at him from underneath her eyelashes. "Okay, you're definitely not getting any more clothes on."

"Stop," she laughs. "And I'm only going to stay if you give me something to call you by."

He grins and leans in, so much so that she can really see how blue his eyes are in the morning light. She blinks, this vague feeling tugging at her – like she should _know _his particular shade of blue from somewhere – as he smiles that same secretive, knowing smile and says, "You can call me Robin."


End file.
